Dubious Gifts
by Shenlong Girl
Summary: Sarah and Jareth have a combative friendship on the best of days, but his latest escapade seems to be beyond the pale.  Or is it?
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Dubious Gifts

**Rating:** PG

**Characters/Pairings:** Jareth/Sarah, mostly friendship. Also Hoggle.

**Summary:** Sarah and Jareth have a combative friendship on the best of days, but his latest escapade seems to be beyond the pale. Or is it?

**Author's Note:** Written for the very patient and generous Kerravonsen, for her winning bid in LiveJournal's Help_Japan. As such, this is born of her prompt.

**Chapter One: Coffee and Clashes**

When Sarah Williams was fifteen, she had a most harrowing adventure, one that featured a captured child, a glittery nemesis, and several impossible puzzles. Two years later, the freshly-seventeen Sarah found herself battling a very different challenge: Endless distraction and beastly piles of pre-finals homework. Junior year of high school was turning out to be killer. So, she abandoned her bedroom's friendly mirrors and the tantalizing, green-scented breeze from its window, turning instead to the low din of a quiet coffee shop. Swamped in delicious, wafting smells, it subdued some of her restlessness. Unfortunately, the beverage itself never tasted as good as it smelled, even when it wasn't burning the roof of her mouth away, but she kept on trying to like it, right up until the Goblin King sat across from her at the booth. At which point she reflexively chucked the swill at his chest.

He tried to dodge and failed, gaining a banged knee to go along with his burning front. He growled indistinct invectives before pausing to glare at Sarah, at which point she contemplated the cost vs benefit of abandoning her schoolbooks and essay and just hightailing it. However, he merely closed his eyes and switched outfits with a small burst of glittery magic.

"A t-shirt?" she asked stupidly. It finally occurred to her that he had been wearing modern clothing before and even now adorned himself with a sinfully tight black t-shirt. His hair looked darker as well, definitely blonde and punkish but no longer otherworldly.

He also wore a flat glare. "You just assaulted me with no provocation whatsoever, possibly ruining my clothing, and that's the first thing you say?"

"I, uh-" she stuttered, "…I'm sorry?"

He scoffed. "I suppose that'll have to do, considering." Wait, should she even be ashamed of herself for that? He was a villain, and it wasn't like he didn't have enough clothes; she'd seen him in something like five outfits over the course of ten hours.

She straightened in her seat and tried to shake off her wrong-footedness. "What are you doing here?" she demanded.

"Funnily enough, I was hoping to sample this establishment's coffee."

"What are you doing at my table, Goblin King?"

"I'm not here as the Goblin King." He paused to give the words gravity. "And it would please me for you to call me by my given name, Jareth." He then smiled, no doubt impressed with his own magnanimity, but Sarah just stared in utter confusion.

"Okay... Jareth, but that still doesn't tell me why you're here, in my booth. Unless finals really have gotten to me, and I'm hallucinating."

His smile faded, but he spoke without reproach, "Would you believe that I'm bored? Running a kingdom is labor-intensive, but I do have time for leisure. What I don't have is sufficiently engaging companions. You've _met_ goblins, yes?" A teasing smile accompanied the last part, and Sarah couldn't help but smile back, to his apparent delight. "There are non-goblins in my kingdom, such as your friends – who you'll note I have very kindly _not_ punished for defying me – but you're more different still. Human, for one thing. Precious few of you in the Aboveground even believe in us anymore, much less distinguish yourselves as Labyrinth champions." Emphasis on the champion part made her want to beam, though she bit on it. "I think I should find such an otherworldly companion amusing. So, would you consent to spend time with me, now and again, Sarah? Will you lessen my drudgery?"

It was a concerted attack: A winning smile, open but tinged with attractive wickedness. The affectionate tone in which he'd said her name. The expert stroking of her ego. Was it any wonder she had a "yes" on the tip of her tongue? Her hard-won caution did force her to (politely) ask, "This isn't some kind of trick? You'll still have no power over-"

He scowled briefly. "Yes, yes, not over you or your brother."

She winced through the next part but had to say it: "And it's not… revenge?"

"Sarah Williams, I swear it on my crown." They shared a smile, then, and he even spent the next two hours sipping coffee and quizzing her, the picture of a helpful gentleman.

And then the honeymoon, as they say, was over.

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In the months following the coffee shop encounter, Sarah cursed herself many times. Jareth didn't iwear/i a crown. He should have meant the oath as a reference to his kinghood, but she couldn't be sure. For one thing Jareth, the Goblin King himself, a man presumably brought up in some kind of high society like most royalty, wasn't very kingly at all. He did not stand for social niceties, which was something she really should have known after their first meeting. After all, throwing snakes at frightened girls wasn't the behavior of a professional gentleman. So, unlike with the non-human dwarf, little foxman, and orange-furred monster with whom she usually relaxed, expecting the Goblin King to mirror-call before he visited was right out. And though he was never rude enough to outright eject from her life, she swore sometimes that his antics were a form of revenge.

Just days after finals, he made to lure her to the park for a celebration picnic, his treat. However, he did so by sending a particularly dirty goblin to invite and lead her there. Karen had blamed its muddy footprints on Merlin, and thus on Sarah for not cleaning the dog before letting him into the house. The picnic, as such, was much delayed and strained.

Another time, he'd gifted her with a lovely potted plant that proceeded to somehow climb up her smooth bedroom wall overnight. By the time she got home from school and was available to deal with it, the demonic vine had worked its way halfway across her ceiling. One hysterical call to Hoggle later, the pair filled the room with a number of noxious odors – one ineffective weed-killer after another – and eventually had to resort to fire. Enraged yelling then summoned a red-faced Goblin King. He wouldn't admit to being breathless from laughing at her, but she iknew,/i dammit. She'd seen his scrying crystals! And even his magical clean-up job couldn't erase all the smells the debacle had caused, so the highlight of the next day for Sarah was an awkward, cryptic lecture about marijuana from her father.

So what if she had taught a bunch of goblins "I Feel Pretty" that one time, assuring them that their king would love to be serenaded regularly. And it was barely worth mentioning that she'd once given him mouse traps as a joke gift, explaining in a guileless voice that she thought his owl form might appreciate fast food. That didn't make it even.

Where her ire was concerned, the fact that she found him so attractive did work in his favor. Of course, she never forgot how devious and dangerous he was, and anyway, he'd never offered. But she was only human, and surely better women than her had mooned over delicate Fae features and perfect Fae skin. There was no helping it. But even if he did flirt from time to time, she pretty much assumed that's how he was and not that it meant anything.

Besides, even looks like his couldn't stupify her enough to keep from arguing with him entirely. Which he then, of course, turned into more opportunities for mischief. A pair of goblins might seem to bring flowers and apologies for a faux pas, but he must have guessed how they would tear into things like Easter candy and unattended homework. Sarah still shuddered to think of what became of her makeup box when it met with candy-charged goblins. Sherbet orange was not Gringa's color.

Was it masochistic of her to acknowledge that she wouldn't give up the chaos for anything?

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"Reading again?" Air puffed against the shell of her ear, and she jolted from her chair with a squeak. Four feet away, she glared at him while he gave her a dramatically put-out look. The humor in his eyes rather ruined the effect. "Need you propel yourself away from me so vehemently? A man might think he'd gained an odor."

"You scared me," Sarah admonished him. Then she sniffed haughtily and put down her book, absently examining the cover. "Besides, I wish you wouldn't pop in so close to me. With all the glitter your magic gives off, Karen's been giving me weird looks. And asking awkward questions." She felt the corner of her mouth twitch.

"Whatever about? It's not so odd that a girl would wear glitter, is it?"

"I think she wants to ask if I've become a stripper." Her eyes shot sidelong to his, but he merely blinked at her, head tilted. "That's someone who takes her clothes off for money."

After a frozen moment of comprehension, he laughed, and she joined him. She didn't worry about the noise reaching the house's other inhabitants; he somehow made sure it never did.

He joked, "You could tell her you've been spending time with a male stripper. It's only half a lie." Sarah laughed even harder.

"I don't think the men wear glitter, and somehow I don't think she'd like the idea of me rubbing on a guy stripper much better." She grinned at him, enjoying a wicked smile in return. She preferred the times like this over all others, when dirty jests or shared stories left her warm and happy with friendship. He never treated her like a child, not once since they first met in her parents' bedroom, and she adored that about him.

He murmured, "You're so lovely when you're flushed like that." Surprise chased away her smile, and he said nothing else, looking faintly surprised himself. Sarah looked around reflexively.

"What's that?" A plain wooden box lay at his feet, roughly the size of a sweater's gift box. Had that been there this whole time?

Absentmindedly, he glanced down. "That? A trifle. I thought I might make you a gift of it. Today is some special occasion, yes?"

"It's my birthday, duh." She stepped up and shoved him gently, all smiles again. He caught her hand before she could pull it back, holding it in his own. "Dad and Karen are taking me out for dinner soon." She swung hers and Jareth's hands playfully between them, looking up expectantly.

However, he didn't offer the box just yet. "Hm, sounds important. And what other birthday plans do you have, my dear Sarah?"

"My friends are taking me bowling on Saturday," she answered distractedly. "What's in the box?" The teasing smile on his beautiful face and the intriguing scent of him – like a lightning storm on the cusp of beginning – were very pleasant, but little could war with her curiosity just that second.

"Again, a trifle, but I might be convinced to give you a proper gift later, depending."

"Huh?" Convinced?

"We'll talk about it later." He finally bent down to grab the box and gave it to her, and she hurriedly opened it. Setting it on the bed, she pulled out something soft and green and kissed with glitter. And small.

"A shirt?" she asked.

Jareth chuckled. "You wouldn't usually wear trousers with that. Here." He took it from her, turned them toward the mirror, and held the garment in front of her, apparently enjoying the view from over her shoulder. His body heat lazily seeped into her back, separated by inches as they were, and the hands on her shoulders somehow raised her temperature by several degrees. He had to feel it radiating from her burning cheeks, with his own so close to hers. Swallowing a moment of lightheadedness, she finally looked in the mirror.

Woah. That neckline was low. And was that a hole in the stomach area? Sure enough the cotton-like fabric had a gaping hole right around where her navel would go. It was three ovals pressed together, like a shamrock or something. And below that hole, there was… not nearly enough fabric. The – dress? Shift? – was forest green with a smattering of something shiny woven into it, and it seemed form-fitting until the waist, where it loosened to fit hips. However, even the most daring of Sarah's classmates hadn't worn anything as short as this thing. The skirt was made up of four pointed and layered pleats, sort of reminding her of leaves, but the point between leaves would come far up her thigh.

Sarah's brain suddenly found an inkling and latched onto it. The compliments. A "real" gift, talk of "convincing" him after she opened this one. The way he was surrounding her right now, dizzyingly close and leering over her shoulder. She turned eighteen today.

Oh god, was this lingerie? She sputtered, "What… wait, woa-" It couldn't be lingerie, surely, except it couldn't be anything else, either. If not intended to go with pants, the thing would never be acceptable in public. His proximity, so alluring a moment ago, started to stifle her, ratcheting up her heart rate.

Jareth finally seemed to pick up on how flustered she was, and he gave a little frown. "Don't you like it? I know you haven't worn anything quite like it before, but..." He seemed so puzzled. Maybe she should take a moment to check.

Slowly, she said, "Jareth, I can't exactly wear that out to a restaurant."

He snorted. "I would guess not, but I wasn't thinking of other humans when I picked it out. I hoped you might wear it when you're with me. I thought…" Oh, it was totally lingerie, wasn't it?

"What did you think?" she squeaked. "That I would- just- give in to you? You just take that for granted?" During her tirade, she'd broken the circle of his arms and turned to face him, and now his visage darkened. Slightly hysterical, she continued heedlessly, "I'm that easy to predict, am I?"

"No," he hissed. His voice was an arctic blizzard's wind, cold and sharp. "It's been many moons since I would have thought to call you predictable, Sarah. However, I admit I might have seen this coming if I had remembered what an ungracious brat you can be."

Ungracious? Well wasn't he just God's gift! "I think you need to leave." Her voice, audibly strangled, still conveyed more composure than she felt. She steeled herself, waiting for taunts or threats.

"Done," was all he said, disappearing abruptly. She blinked and looked around, stunned. He'd taken the box as well, but the... garment lay crumpled on the floor.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** Dubious Gifts  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG  
><strong>CharactersPairings:** Jareth/Sarah, mostly friendship. Also Hoggle.  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Sarah and Jareth have a combative friendship on the best of days, but his latest escapade seems to be beyond the pale. Or is it?

**Chapter Two: Girls and Boys and Fae**

"This is where you wanted to go, isn't it, Sarah?"

Sarah grimaced. Her birthday dinner was turning out less than pleasant. She found she couldn't take her mind off of a ball of appalling fabric buried in her drawer and the infuriating man that had given it to her. She ought to have thrown it away. Still, she managed a smile. "Of course, Dad. You know I love their chicken marsala."

"You've barely touched it, is all."

Karen joined in, "Don't take it personally, dear. She looks distracted. Problems with friends at school, Sarah? Or is it boy problems." She added the last bit with a teasing smile, more a quip than a question, but something in Sarah's face must have given her away. Karen's expression lost its humor. "It's boy problems, isn't it? Why didn't you tell us you had a boy?"

"A boy? What kind of boy?" asked her father.

She protested, "I don't... He's not _my _boy." Nor is he a boy at all...

"But there is a boy?" her dad pressed.

Crap. Sarah thought that she of all people would know about choosing words carefully, but no.

He demanded, "What did he do?" Good lord, who knew he had Mr. Protective hidden somewhere under that sweater vest?

"This guy, he's a friend, and I just... He's not the kind of guy I thought he was, is all." She stared glumly down at her food, hoping it would discourage further questions.

Karen made a sympathetic noise. "Well, honey, I haven't known you to be a bad judge of character, not for years anyway. The whole thing could be a misunderstanding."

"And if it's not," her dad added, "don't be depressed. He's the slimeball, not you, and slimeballs aren't worth your time."

"Dad!"

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Dad and Karen mostly left her alone after that, but she still thought about what they'd said. A misunderstanding? Could it be? Or was Karen just trying to make her feel better? She could have been; Sarah knew that her parents probably saw her as happy but withdrawn, an inevitable effect of living life with one foot in a secret, magical world. Karen would doubtlessly prefer it if nothing scared Sarah further into her "shell." Her dad's advice seemed more honest. But still... a third opinion wouldn't hurt.

Once back in her room, she called into her mirror, "Hoggle." As luck would have it, he was near his own mirror, unoccupied and happy to visit.

"Didn't think to see you tonight, Sarah. The others coming soon?"

"I, uh, just invited you."

At that, he raised his expressive eyebrows.

Sarah smiled sadly. "You're the one I need just now, Hoggle. Can you give me some advice?" She figured Ludo wouldn't be good for much more than commiserating ('King bad!'), and Didymus, well, she wasn't sure about him. He'd likely give her a courtly explanation of everything, which might or might not apply to the unpredictable Goblin King, and she felt too run-down to deal with his abundant energy just then. Or maybe she just didn't want to even mention the word "lingerie" to the proper old fox.

"Advice? Suppose I can try, but I know a lot more about tending Underground gardens and killing Underground pests than I do about anything that goes on Above."

Sarah sat on the ground, pulling her knees up to her chest and staring at the ground, and Hoggle sat in front of her.

"That's actually pretty close to the nature of my problem."

"Gardening?"

"Underground pests," Sarah answered ruefully, flicking her gaze up to the dwarf.

"It's Jareth, is it? Pest is right; I don't know how you stand him. I swear he's been feedin' the fairies honeycomb when I'm not looking, just so they'll be harder to catch. I got bit twice yesterday!" He paused to look around. "Er, he ain't around here, is he? No owls outside or nothin'?"

"I might not have to stand him anymore." Her voice broke halfway through the sentence, and tears fell through the cracks, unbidden.

"Oh, no – I – Sarah-" Hoggle fretted, apparently thoroughly alarmed. He reached out to gingerly pat her arm, then awkwardly put his hand behind his head, shifting from foot to foot. "Don't cry over that royal peacock. Royal vulture, more like – but painted – er, like a peacock." His profound discomfort might have been funny on another day. "Tell me what he did, so I knows what to call him, like."

He coaxed the whole story from her, reacting with surprise and confusion.

"Ugh, that man, he doesn't make sense!" Sarah finished. She sniffled again, but the retelling had mostly covered her depression with rekindled anger. A long pause set in.

"But he's not," said Hoggle softly.

"Huh? Not what?"

"A man. Sarah, he's not a man, just as I ain't. Not the way you mean it. He's male, yeah, but he's Fae, not human. Now I'm a dwarf, so I ain't gonna say I can understand him better'n you can, but I will at least say when I don't know what's what."

"I... don't know what's what, Hoggle."

He nodded. "'Course you don't. Fae live their whole useless lives not making sense. They might not lie to you, not with words, but they can make you see and even hear whatever they want. But that's all setup for their sharpest weapon: the truth."

Sarah thought back to the villain she'd first met when she was fifteen. She'd seen an armored, evil adversary and heard the sinister snickering of goblins all about her, but it had all been window dressing for the facts: He'd taken her little brother, and she might not get him back. He had discouraged her from fighting him with his display and warnings, but he hadn't lied. "Why would he want me to see and hear him being... a perverted jerk?"

"I reckon he wouldn't, not on purpose. Could be things didn't go to plan for him." There it was again: the suggestion of a misunderstanding.

"I'll say," she intoned glumly. Another long pause arrived, in which Sarah sluggishly contemplated everything.

Suddenly, "Sarah?"

"Yes?"

"You know I don't like Jareth much, but I like seeing you this upset even less. You should... you should at least be sure why you don't have to see him ever again. 'S better, in the long run, with less wondering. Remember what I said about Fae; he won't lie to your face. I say you ask the slippery cad of a cod, and use your right words."

Sarah wiped away her tears. "I guess there's nothing for it, huh?"

"Nope." A beat. "After I'm gone, o'course. For your sake. He's like to work up a strop, having to be that frank in front of me."

She rocked forward onto her knees, reached out, and pulled him into a hug. "Thanks, Hoggle. You're a real friend. Even if he pitches a fit, I'll make sure I can still see you guys, okay? On my rights as Labyrinth champion."

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The next day Sarah took a walk to the park, finding a slightly secluded copse of trees. Rested and scrubbed of tears, she took a breath and steeled herself.

"Jareth," she called politely. "When you have time, I'd like to talk to you, please. I'll be waiting here." With that, she sat against a tree. She knew he'd heard; he always heard when she used his name aloud.

Ten minutes later, he appeared in front of her, clad in ripped jeans and a red t-shirt with torn-away sleeves. This nearly made Sarah wince; when he sported the punk style of Aboveground clothing, it rarely boded well for his mood. And even with the human clothing – even if he had worn shortpants and a bowtie – nothing could have detracted from the regal look of disdain on his handsome face. His eyes could chip ice; the line of his mouth alone made her want to dig a hole and die in it. Wordless, he raised his chin in cold greeting, and Sarah had to look around them anew to remember that it was late spring, with warm sunlight dappling the ground and greenery everywhere.

Standing, she said, "Jareth, I..." and then stopped, considering. Crap, what had she meant to say?

"Yes?" It was just one word, but spoken in a brittle voice. She knew he had other tones that would wound her or show disdain. Brittle meant that he was hurting, too, and that was enough to move her brain along.

"Jareth, I'm confused."

"Not half as much as I, though I oughtn't be. I should have kno-"

"Yeah, I get it; I'm a bitch. Jareth, if you're so offended, can you tell me why? Because I thought I was supposed to be offended."

He stared incredulously. "Offended? What bloody reason do you have to be offended? I gave you a gift, woman. One that was finely made."

"But what for? And why did you leave it when you stormed out?"

"If you'll recall, it was your birthday," he explained dryly. "And not everyone has your appalling manners. That dress was my gift to you, and it is yours to keep, regardless of anything that transpired after. Anyway, I can't exactly wear the thing myself."

At that, Sarah's brain slammed to a halt. Jareth... tiny green dress... wait, dress? She shook off her befuddlement, stowing those disturbing mental images. "Dress? That was a dress?" The look she received in return made her feel like she'd drooled on herself.

"Obviously."

"But why a dress like that? I mean – not that I don't appreciate dresses – I like them, and – but why?"

"You needed something more modest, so I provided it. Now answer _my_ question. What did you think it was?"

"Wha-" Sarah sputtered, completely lost, "Why would I need something more modest? How is what you gave me MORE modest?"

Warningly, "Sarah."

"It looked like lingerie, okay!" She was past embarrassment. "Lingerie. Bedroom clothes, but not the kind you sleep in. How he hell – a modest dress?"

Jareth seemed to zone out for a moment, then zeroed back in on Sarah and boggled. "You thought I gave you lingerie?"

Oh, wait, there was the embarrassment. Her cheeks burned. "I tried to ask about it, if you remember. But answer my question; how is it modest?"

He sighed. "Think about the over-tight denim trousers you tend to favor. Actually, you're wearing them right now. You must admit that such things give an entirely too detailed view of your posterior."

Sarah resisted the urge to crane her neck and look at her butt, opting instead to press herself back against a tree. "Talk about a view! Your trousers give a too-detailed view of-" some remaining shred of sanity derailed that thought for her "-You wear Lycra! I can't believe you're upset about skinny jeans."

"I am male, and when in a given society I cover what is proper to cover. You'll note I wear your 'skinny jeans' when we walk about your town. Also right now. And I am not upset; I'm used to your people's customs."

Sarah finally felt like she had bought a clue. "Then who was I meant to be modest for? In the 'dress' that shows off my entire legs and half my belly but obscures the exact shape of my butt?"

For the first time that day, Jareth appeared uncomfortable. He looked away to speak. "I wanted you to have something suitable. I... had planned to invite you to a meal at my castle when my sister visits. In a week. As I said, I'm accustomed to your risque Aboveground fashions, but my sister's maid would declare them downright slatternly. It would best keep the peace to have you properly clothed, and it would keep outrageous rumors from reaching my parents."

Oh, no. He'd wanted her to meet his family member, someone he cared about, and she'd... He hadn't been exactly clear about his gift, but still, Sarah had seldom felt like such an ass. Absolutely no words came to mind.

So she hugged him instead. Deliberately, she placed her chin on his shoulder, one arm around his upper back and the other around his middle, and she squeezed, trying to impress her remorse on his body. After half a moment, he enfolded her and said nothing.

They had never held each other like this before. It felt right, a peaceful respite in the often tempestuous nature of their friendship. After several long moments in which both of their bodies relaxed, a tiny, happy sigh escaped her, and her head turned toward his neck, the better to take in his scent. A few seconds later, he gave her an extra squeeze and loosened his hold, letting her part from him but only so far.

"Sarah." He moved his hand from her waist to her cheek, drawing her gaze up to meet his.

She blushed, warmer now than she'd been in the hug. How did this just happen, going from outraged confusion to... whatever this was?

"I promise, in the event that I'm trying to seduce you, with lingerie or otherwise," he leaned closer, "you will know."

She blinked at him, taking in an impish grin and half-lidded eyes. Had any man ever looked so wicked? Still, she didn't pull away.

"So, you will come to dinner with my sister and me. In the frock I gifted you."

She supposed she owed him that much, assuming she could get away with some some opaque tights, and thus nodded. Showing a little stomach wouldn't be so bad, especially if it was as common as his reaction implied. His smile widened slightly before almost vanishing altogether. Sarah knew this, because her eyes were locked on his lips. Lips that appeared to drift infinitesimally closer with each second. Or was she moving closer to them, or was it both?

Then, just when they were a ghost's breath away:

"Sarah!"

She whipped her head towards the voice, the spell abruptly broken.

"It's time for dinner. Who's this?" Richard Williams tapped his foot expectantly.

END

**Endnote: *Author ducks thrown produce.***

Don't worry! I will write a sequel to this. Kerravonsen, I hope this satisfied your prompt in a way you liked!


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